Ah, Spring!

Mother Nature has redeemed herself with the glorious temperatures and expansive blue sky, filling all with a breath of life left that indeed the eternal promise of spring is right around the corner.

The vigilant voice of caution whispering constant admonishments of the dangers that lie in hope and fruitful expectation was for once silent. Tentatively, I stepped onto the dead grass of the lawn, now pleasingly absent of its winter coat of snow and proclaimed, “Yes, winter is over!”

It was time to don the gloves and show the wintry world of dark, heatless days, slippery footing, spoiled food and agitated attitudes that I was better than that; with the assistance of spring, I rise to survive.

Even the tractor was back in the game, once my son-in-law blew the debris from the fuel lines, that is. Don’t you just love the merits of skilled know how? Finally, the scraper blade was attached, and I was ready to tackle the road.

It is a little like washing your hair before going to the salon or cleaning and straightening the house before the cleaning service appears. The road had to be prepared before the gravel trucks arrived. Some of the stone was salvaged and all the ruts, bumps, and holes were smoothed beyond recognition. I was even able to rebuild the crown, well, somewhat.

The road was ready and the gravel company promised they could get the job done before the predicted monsoon commenced. As I write, I am waiting for the last load and occasionally walk to the front door to admire the improvements. But, wait, there is more.

The onset of spring brings a very busy part of the year, on the farm, around the house, in the classroom or in the office. With a high level of activity comes the inevitable gremlin known far and wide as STRESS.

We just cannot escape all of it; like a parasite, it thrives on a host body. Some use eradicators and others simply get sucked dry. My solution is diversity; I close the computer, hang up the phone and hit the dirt, literally.

No master gardener by any stretch of the imagination, but I find it extremely therapeutic. In a 24 hour period, the rose bushes were thoroughly pruned- they will either be brilliant or succumb to sudden death syndrome and the yard was relieved of several truck loads of limbs.

The flower beds were next and the task was to rake away the dead foliage from the last season. Once again, I was reminded of my failure to do the desired separating and transplanting that I always plan to do in the fall. As I pulled last year’s lifeless growth from the plants, I thought, maybe, it was not too late.

But, then, I saw it, the most remarkable discovery of the day. Nestled just beneath rotting debris of 2009 was the new growth and promise for my 2010 garden. My day was complete.

Until next time, be well.

Cheap fun!

Not wanting to be accused of a “do as I say, not as I do” philosophy, I recently tried out some cheap inexpensive fun on my grandson Jordan. Gee, I hope he doesn’t get the idea that he is Mema’s guinea pig; then again, maybe that might not be all bad.


Life on the farm is never dull and the work is never done. Constant demands to nurture land and livestock have no regard for 40 hour work weeks, overtime, sick leave or vacations. For those that make the choice, it becomes a way of life, turning chores into adventures and including the entire family.

Clearing and maintaining creeks was an annual task and always meant discovery for those observant ones. Heaven forbid that we would stop to look, other than for self-protection, while burning brush or whacking weeds. The adventure was an anticipated delight at the end of the day. I wondered if today’s children were so different.

While I set about clearing the front creek, fond memories of mystery and delight flooded my thoughts. Years of working away from the farm produced a stream now overgrown with Olive bushes-unfortunately nothing edible- and choked with marsh-type grasses. The water flows ever so slowly and remains hidden from sight.

Not nearly as fit as in my youth, I am happy to use modern machinery to tackle such a task. A tractor, bush hog, bucket and chain were the tools of choice.

There are several pleasing attributes to the invasive Olive bush and the one I have become most fond of is its shallow roots. A chain hooked round the base of the bush and a tractor in low gear makes for fantastic results.

Once the bushes are removed and piled for burning, the mower is backed in where the banks are not too steep. For those hard to get to places, I will have to go back with a weed eater.

The final step in the operation is to open the creek by pushing the mud around or pulling it out with the bucket. Voila! The water now flows freely and the creek is open for playtime.

A couple of things I neglected to mention, the mud is really stinky, slimy and possesses an incredible sucking capacity. Also, from my perch atop the tractor, I could see I had disturb a sleeping snapper, several frogs and the treasure of all who love the creek, the prehistoric looking species called a crawdad.

Was my love of chasing critters in the gooey mud on a hot afternoon prehistoric as well? Time would soon tell.

Jordan arrived at the farm about 5PM to find me on the tractor still pulling bushes and I was oh so ready to quit for the day. True to the daily plan of playing before settling in to homework, I suggested he change into his farm clothes and meet me at the other end of the creek. Having enticed him with tales of turtles, frogs and crawdads, he was cautiously intrigued returning promptly in ragged shorts and no shoes.

Plunging in with little hesitation, he was quickly up to his knees in soupy gray mud. He mentioned frequently that he hoped he wasn’t stepping on something that would bite him. Despite his lingering apprehension, the search for crawdads commenced with fervor.

A teeny baby, a medium sized specimen and then he found the granddaddy. Huge for a native, this fellow or girl (we couldn’t tell, that’s a follow up for science class) was about 4 inches long with sizeable pincers. After careful examination and showing it off to anyone we could find, it was returned to the same spot where retrieved.

Frogs were plentiful and those little black beetle like bugs we called speedboats were bombed always unsuccessfully. It was finally time to find the turtle.

I had seen it in the same area on two other occasions. Jordan didn’t believe it was there declaring it had crawled on to the pond. I think maybe he hoped it wasn’t nearby, but he was genuinely pleased to be the first one to spot it. The turtle was underwater with its head against a rock at the bottom of a tiny waterfall. You could tell by the size of its tail that it was very, very big.

Reluctantly, we headed to the house to clean up. I started supper while the almost-13 year old tackled his homework. The test was over; I was pleased with the findings. The creek would see us again.

Until next time, be well.